


Providence

by NymeriaKing (DisappearingGirl)



Category: Dark (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Doomed Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisappearingGirl/pseuds/NymeriaKing
Summary: In 1921, starving and still bleeding, Jonas crashes at the local tavern. Upon waking, he is met with a devout stranger.
Relationships: Jonas Kahnwald/Noah | Hanno Tauber
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Providence

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed this pairing had absolutely zero explicit fics, so I thought I'd write one! Here you go! It is basically 100% porn.
> 
> Please note: federal age of consent in U.S. is 18 so this is tagged as underage since they are 17.

Darkness.

Not a soft darkness, but a biting one. It swirled around Jonas, tearing at his skin and gnashing at his throat.

He was heavy, falling endlessly. It felt like days, weeks. The darkness had long since spilled into his mouth and consumed him. Now, it seemed to be crawling its way out.

For the thousandth time, he gasped for air.

It burned. Oh, it burned. The painful wheeze turned to a whistle and rang in his ears as he sat up. He wasn't in the dark tunnel of time anymore. No, he was home.

Except he wasn't. His slanted ceiling hung above his bed, and sunshine bored in through the north window behind him. For all appearances, this was his home.

He had tried to go home. He tried to go back to _his_ home. Instead, he landed in 1921.

His wounds from 2052 were still fresh, though. A ring of hot iron burned around his neck, and his left leg throbbed. Lifting a hand to where the noose had forced itself through so much skin, he felt the soft fibers of cotton.

When had this been bandaged? Was his leg bandaged, too?

Looking down, he saw that the gunshot wound was bleeding through the bandage already. He did not remember his wounds being cleaned or dressed, only being shown the room and immediately falling into bed.

Running a hand down the beige shift that now covered his body, he certainly did not recall undressing or being given new clothes.

"You slept for almost twenty-four hours."

Gasping once more, Jonas whipped around toward the voice.

In a chair sat a young man with blond hair, a soft face, and half-closed eyes. He looked like he could be close to him in age, except for the large scrape across his face, deep enough in parts to have cut through the skin. Though, Jonas thought, he did have a few of his own.

Turning fully, he set his sore feet upon the wooden floor. If he had had the strength, he would have up and left immediately. Rather, lowering his leg had sent the pain from a throb to a vision-swirling spike. He could hardly keep the other man in focus. "Who are you?"

He looked bored, and nothing more. "People say Erna can't say no to stray dogs." Something glinted in his hands. A knife.

Dread knotted up Jonas's stomach. This was wrong. He needed to get out. Words clawed themselves out of his dry throat of their own accord. "I'm not right, here. _This_ isn't right, here." He wanted to get up but remained where he sat out of fear.

The young man huffed, pocketing the knife. "At first, I pictured you differently."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jonas barked. Who was he? The knot in his stomach tightened as the strange man stood. "Why did you say that?"

He walked to the door, footsteps nearly silent.

For a moment, doubt swirled in his mind. This man might not have been one of them, one of the Travelers. Anyone down in the tavern could have told him about the stranger with shell shock and rope burn, the odd one who had wandered into town.

But then the lock on the door clicked, and Jonas was no longer sure what to believe. The man smirked at him, chin raised and eyes still relaxed.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Two strong hands fell upon the topmost fastened button of his shirt, sliding it out through the eye to reveal a pale chest. Upon it lay a rosary of dark wood. He did the same for the next button, then the next. "Why don't you get to know me?"

Jonas recoiled with each step the stranger took toward him, walking his hands back on the bed until the man stopped at his feet.

From this angle, the half-closed eyes looked wide and round. The dark blue was suddenly bright and watery, and the sunlight cast a halo atop his head. The rosary around his neck was almost black against his skin, which glowed like an angel lit up by God. Then he sank to his knees.

Jonas's breath caught as the man set a hand on his knee. It was rough, calloused by labor, and heavy. There was nothing to interrupt the raw sensation; the borrowed shift didn't cover him that low. In a moment of unease, it occurred to him that this very man could have been the one to undress him as he slept. He swallowed down a sudden lump in his throat.

The stranger—if he was that—reached forward. His other hand landed on Jonas's chest, covering his heart. He closed his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Jonas whispered, watching him wearily.

He took a second to respond. "Praying."

He blinked. "P-praying?"

When the man opened his eyes, something within them had changed, and Jonas was staring into the center of something profound. "That this the right thing to do." They were wide with desperation, hard with determination. "That this will happen the way you told me it will."

Jonas did not understand. "The way _I_ —"

Darkness consumed his vision once again, but he was far from alone. Lips were pressed against his, and a hand on his neck held him fast. He tried to say something—anything—in protest, and tasted blood.

He reached for the man's shirt, looking for something to grab, and cursed when he hit bare skin instead. He skimmed outwards, clenched his fists in the loose fabric, and pulled it down and away in an attempt to get the man off of him.

The man did pull away with a gasp, staring down at his newly torn shirt. Underneath it, his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

"How do you know me?"

Slowly, he looked back up. "I've known you my whole life."

The conviction stirred something within him, but it couldn't be true. He shook his head.

"You saved me."

"I don't know you," Jonas choked.

"But you will. Intimately." The hand on his knee shifted, tightening upon him. His eyes were pleading. "Just as I know that you would do anything to see your father again, that you would die for those you love, that you would bear the weight of the world to keep it from killing us all. I trust you in this. That is why I follow you."

The words resonated within Jonas and drew him in closer. "In my future," he whispered. "That is when I will know you, isn't it?"

The other man swallowed, then nodded. "Beginning now. That is why you sent me here."

" _I_ sent you here," he echoed, voice hollow with unfulfilled curiosity.

He nodded again.

"And I told you…" He paused, unsure how to proceed. How does one negotiate one's way through fate? Dipping his gaze, he focused on the hand upon his knee. Carefully, he set his own hand atop the other's. "I told you to kiss me?"

That little smirk reappeared briefly. "Twice."

"Twice?"

He leaned in, lips landing just shy of his ear, and murmured, "You said the first one wouldn't work."

His breath caught, and he turned his face into the soft warmth of the other. "Tell me your name."

Against his cheek, the young man smiled gently. "Hanno."

Jonas took a second to study the face of the man he would soon get to know—his future, his fate. His soft eyes, high cheekbones, delicate mouth. He grabbed hold of the hand on his knee and slid it up an inch. "Let's see if the second one works."

Hanno's eyes flashed, and then his lips were once again on his.

If this were what Jonas was destined to do per his own determination, then who would he be to fight it?

Jonas graciously accepted the desire Hanno poured into him, delving deep into his chest and countering with his own. He'd been stifled for so long, tossed about by time, and longed for release. Something in him finally snapped, and he slid Hanno's shirt off his shoulders to dig his fingers into his skin.

Hanno's body ran hot under his hands. His shoulders and back carried tension beyond his years, solid as stone. Everywhere Jonas's hands roamed, he could hardly gain purchase. They eventually settled on the nape of his neck, cradling the corded muscle there.

"Everyday," mumbled Hanno against his mouth, "I thank God for you."

Jonas pulled back to get another look at him, taking in his reddened pout and heavy eyes, but he wouldn't look back.

Instead, his gaze had fallen to the cotton shift that maintained his modesty. With a long look, he let his shirt fall the rest of the way off and casted it onto the floor. The rosary remained, cross hovering above his navel. When his hands fell upon the hem of the shift, he finally looked back up.

Nodding, Jonas watched him tease the hem upward, slowly revealing more and more of his body. There came a point when Hanno had to rise from his knees to lift it off completely.

The shift came to rest on the floor, and Hanno came to rest on the bed. Here, they were of a height, though Hanno had a strength to him that Jonas lacked. In this way, he looked every bit the caregiver that must have tended to him while he slept.

"Are you keeping that thing on?" Jonas asked, hand snaking toward the waistband of the other man's trousers.

He looked down to the beads hanging around his neck. "You gave this to me."

A yes, then.

Jonas quickly diverted his hand, taking hold of the cross. It was heavy, dark, and smooth. He did not hold a particular belief himself, but he gave the cross a quick kiss for his sake, and then transfered his lips to the crook of his neck.

He took again to the Hanno's waistband, playing his fingers along it until they reached the button. With a light pull, the trousers were open.

Hanno sighed, his shoulder rising and falling under under his mouth. "I'm ready for you now. He told me to be."

Jonas paused. "He?"

"You."

Burying his face further into the other's neck, he flushed. He was _ready_. He'd have to commit this all to memory, perhaps even write it down, so his future self could tell all these intimate things to young Hanno.

He took a deep breath and lay back on the flannel sheets. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched Hanno slowly peel off the rest of his clothing.

Was Hanno doing this out of duty, to follow fate? Or did his own will truly have a role?

Whatever the underlying reason was, Hanno surprised him by slipping back onto the floor between his knees.

Jonas bit his lip. Hard.

Hanno tilted his head forward, resting his cheek briefly against his upper thigh and meeting his gaze for a few long seconds. The heavy eyes looked more natural on him this way. They seemed contemplative and relaxed and impassioned—not bored as he had come off earlier. The half-closed lids resembled his kneeling posture, ready to worship and pray. Then something clicked, and he carried forward, reaching his hand gently around the base of his cock.

Jonas swallowed. A tremble originated in his navel and spread outward, bubbling in his blood and fluttering over his skin. Hanno had a hand hidden behind the bed, but the rhythmic rocking of his shoulder gave him away. The hand that was around Jonas tightened, and his throat tightened in sympathy. The bandage felt a noose again. The feeling overwhelmed him, and he would have looked away or closed his eyes, but Hanno's stare would not let him go.

It never let him go. From the moment his lips first brushed across the head to when they stopped just shy of the base, the intensity in his eyes did not waver. It stayed strong as he lifted away and bobbed back down again and again, still jerking himself.

Jonas clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, straining to keep his cool. Hanno, whoever he was, looked to be born for this. Without entirely meaning to, he stretched a hand toward the man and tangled his fingers in the soft blond hair, following his movements up and down.

He would have been lost in it had Hanno not pulled back. A string of saliva linked them for a moment, but he swiped his bottom lip clean and rose to his feet. He gracefully set a knee up on the bed then followed with the other to straddle him, hips slipping easily into Jonas's hands.

The rosary stood out in relief against the white expanse of skin, hanging above Jonas, demanding his attention and punctuating the scene like an exclamation point. He breathed in shakily, holding Hanno tighter, and eyed the long, hard member that he had not been able to see before. It was surrounded by brown hair, untamed and natural, and the head was slick with pre-cum.

Hanno wasted no time in reaching down and grabbing the cock below him, guiding it toward his entrance and lining up.

Jonas dug his fingers into the flesh at his hips, bracing himself as he sank onto him. The heat almost burned him, and he shivered.

This was not Hanno's first time. His posture was too relaxed, and his movements were too confident. He rocked up and down smoothly, hips rolling like the sea. The drag was silky and wet, tight and smooth. His face turned blissful, and he came forward to mount a kiss upon his jaw.

The weight of Hanno and his cross were nearly crushing, and both were hot against his skin. Jonas turned to kiss him properly. His mouth still tasted like blood.

A deep sigh freed itself from Hanno's chest. "Is this Paradise?" he wondered aloud, breathing the words across his lips.

He didn't have an answer for that, only two hands to pull him closer. He rolled his hips up, forcing himself further inside him and drawing a soft moan. Slowly, he slid a hand across sweat-sticky skin until it found a thick gathering of hair. He gave his balls a gentle caress, then teased his way upward. Wrapping his hand around Hanno's cock, he squeezed another moan out of him.

Pulling little noises from Hanno turned out to be easy, and he soon was back up and working himself on Jonas's hard dick.

Jonas could feel himself begin to unravel pretty quickly after that. He could hardly move his injured legs, but his toes began to curl of their own volition. His thighs trembled, and his breath couldn't be caught. The other man had done a number on him, healing him up and turning him inside out. Something within his gut coiled, and his balls tightened.

Hanno looked him dead in the eye, smirking. That was the moment a wave finally came over him, and he dug his nails deep into the pale skin of the man above him, hips jerking into him.

He blinked for a second, maybe two, and Hanno was already riding his coattails, cum spilling out onto his chest. The eyes that had been perpetually half-shut were now closed completely, and his small mouth was opened in a silent cry. It took a few seconds for him to open his eyes again, and when he did, he fixed them on Jonas.

He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. His gaze was loaded with nothing but worship.

Jonas wanted to ask why, but Hanno was already rolling away and getting off the bed, leaving him lying bare and spent in the middle of it. He gathered a pile of clothes, but instead of putting them on, he handed them to Jonas.

"These are yours now. Keep them."

Jonas sat up and accepted them. These weren't the ones Hanno discarded. These were neatly folded, reserved for him.

By the window, Hanno was wringing something out over a bucket of water. "Here," he murmured, bringing it to him, as well. It was a washcloth. He lowered himself to the floor and began cleaning him. While the water was cold, the gesture wasn't a bother.

Jonas watched his face as he focused careful attention on gently wiping away the mess. He had definitely been the one to tend his wounds and clean him up, giving him the shift to sleep in, the bandages to protect him, and watching over him while he was in here alone. His devotion was clear upon his solemn face.

It was a strange question to ask a stranger, but it felt right.

He cleared his throat, and Hanno glanced up, hand paused. "Do you…," he started, but he couldn't quite say it aloud.

Hanno waited patiently, listening for when he would continue.

It panged in his heart, and he finally asked, "Do you love me? In my future, I mean. Is that—"

He huffed, and his face contorted. A smile took the bottom half while tears sprang to his eyes.

Jonas gulped. "Sorry for asking."

Blinking rapidly, Hanno dropped the cloth and took his face into his hands. "You are my Providence. It can be no one else."

Sighing, Jonas lowered his head. What could he say to that? What sincerity could he offer in return? He had just met the man. The hands fell from his face, and he looked up.

Hanno smiled, more bitter this time. "Don't worry about it yet. He— _you_ —said that you would feel the same eventually. He said that we would grow close."

Relief set in.

But Hanno wasn't done yet. "He said we would be friends. Before you betray me."

The relief disappeared instantly, replaced by cold shock, horror, and dread. There was nothing he could say to that. Absolutely nothing.

"You should get dressed now," Hanno continued as if nothing had happened. He picked up the cloth and returned it to the bucket. "We are going to see him soon. He wants to speak with you."

Slowly, Jonas dressed, and Hanno did the same. As relaxed as Hanno could be, nothing could shake the palpable discord in the room.

"Hanno."

He hummed.

"I'm sorry. For whatever it is I will do."

The man looked at him for a few seconds, silent and still and judging. "I don't need you to be sorry. The heart wants what it wants."

It was true enough. He nodded shallowly.

"I just need you to save me," he said after a minute. "I need Paradise."

Jonas could agree to that.


End file.
